Aeyre
by RiaAndHerCourt
Summary: Aelin walks through a wyrdgate and meets Rhys and Feyre
1. Aelin 1

Aelin disliked the dark. Not shadows, exactly, shadows were good. Shadows hid an assassin from her prey. Not nighttime either-nighttime was the perfect time for certain _other_ less deadly activities. But darkness… true darkness that was so black, it wasn't even black, it was just empty… Aelin hated that. That darkness was everything she had to fight through, every day, just so stand up. But Aelin always stood up, because she was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and she would not be afraid.

However, the very, very dark passage through the wyrdgate sent shivers up her spine that her fire could not quell. Not that Aelin could touch her fire. It was like Adarlan before the towers had been taken down-where Aelin's magic had laid dormant for so long was empty.

So Aelin kept walking. She could see nothing, and turning back would be impossible. _The Walking  
Dead _had failed spectacularly to mention anything about wyrdgates. That blasted book… If she could have, Aelin would've incinerated the book at that moment.

Still, Aelin walked. She had no sense of time-perhaps it had been an hour, a day. She was not tired, only weary. One foot in front of the other, she repeated her mantra over and over.

Step _._

 _I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius._

 _Step._

 _I will not be afraid._

Step _._

 _I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius._

Step _._

 _I will not-_

As quickly as the darkness had engulfed her, it disappeared.  
Though there had been no indication that there was in end, it seemed she had reached it. The room she was in was dimly lit (but it was nothing like the darkness of the gate) and large. Clearly, the owner was wealthy. Expensive rugs covered the floor, and a grand tapestry hung across a massive wall on the other side. The center of the room was empty, though the sides were dotted with plush sofas and chairs. It seemed to be a library, given the stacks of books next to the chairs and on the shelves to her left and right. Not a giant library… perhaps a personal one? It must be hidden away, she reasoned, given that there was no obvious entrance. Unless one conjured a wyrdgate every time they wanted to read a book.

Aelin glanced back. Behind her was a tapestry like the one across the room. The wyrdgate was gone.

Which meant, Aelin realized, she was in an unidentified realm with no way back to Erilea.

Under her breath, the assassin let out a string of curses befitting of the foulest sailor.

The first thing Aelin focused on was the "unidentified" aspect of her predicament. She walked over to a pile of books and grabbed the top one. By some miracle, it was written in the common tongue of Adarlan. Peculiar, but Aelin did not have time to ponder it.

This told Aelin rather little, aside from she would be able to communicate with whomever's residence this was. There were hundreds of realms, and Aelin knew nothing about most of them.

 _Curse that book…_

The question was, now, would she seek out someone or hide? The people of this land might not take kindly to a foreigner. Could she defend herself? Her confidence returned slightly at the realization she could feel her flames dancing in her soul. Still, making enemies haphazardly wouldn't bode well. Whoever lived here was filthy rich, educated, and probably very powerful, if they even read a fraction of the books in the room.

Before Aelin could reach a decision, however, the room she was alone in stopped being quite so empty.

She felt someone's breath behind her and jolted at the melodic voice.

"And who exactly might you be?"


	2. Feyre 1

Feyre wondered if she'd ever get used to the Night Court. Since becoming one of the them, she supposed, many of the Faerie Realms' enchantments had become commonplace to her. Or at least, this was the case in the Spring Court. Feyre never quite felt like she could let her guard down in the Night Court; she never knew what was hiding in the shadows.

Or perhaps, if Feyre was truly being honest, the reason she was always on her toes was not so much a what as a who.

The who, of course, was nonetheless than the High Lord Rhysand, whose piercing blue eyes always seemed to see a part of Feyre she couldn't see herself.

Rhysand, whose piercing blue eyes were currently fixed on Feyre from across the table.

Feyre found her dinner very interesting, even though she couldn't eat very much of it by the third course. Rhys had established a tradition months before that they eat every dinner together. Most were surprisingly simple meals, but the first dinner of the week was always several courses long. By the time they reached the end of the meal, Feyre had usually eaten more than she had in a month of her… old life. Then again, High Fae needed to eat more than humans.

Despite the elaborate meal, however, as usual it was just the two of them.

"So," Rhys purred, "did you enjoy the book I sent you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the High Lord. At the end of each visit, Rhys sent her home with a book from his library. Gradually, as her reading improved, he gave her more and more complex ones. The latest, however…

"No."

"Really?" He had the nerve to smirk. "The plot went over your head?"

Hardly. "No, the plot was about as complicated as porridge. As you know. I can't believe you gave me that book," Feyre growled with a shake of her head.

Rhys's smirk widened.

"Do you know," she barked, "how horrifying it was to explain to Lucian what I was trying to pronounce? I told him I was trying to pronounce clay tournament!"

"Clay tournament!" Rhys laughed. "That's one butchering of such a lovely word."

When he laughed like that, his blue eyes crinkled as he threw his head back, looking her age instead of like the centuries old manipulating High Lord he was. It was almost enough to soften Feyre's ire. But really, no. It had been horrifying when Feyre realized what she was reading.

"Still, you must've been enjoying what you read because the the _clay tournament_ doesn't come about until the sculptor doesn't enter the clay tournament until he finishes-"

Feyre shoved a palm on Rhys's mouth, hoping to stop him from finishing his sentence before Feyre's face could turn any redder.

After a few moments, their antics ceased, and Rhys was mostly forgiven. The teasing took the edge off the atmosphere. It made Feyre feel at home. Conversation went on for a bit until Rhys suddenly stood after the fifth course. Feyre eyed him, confused.

"Someone's in my private library."

Feyre's eyes widened. No one ever came into Rhys's home without permission, let alone his private rooms. This was out of respect and fear, she figured, but Feyre wasn't sure anyone could enter if they tried.

And yet, someone had. Someone very foolish.

Rhys's icy eyes narrowed as he looked to the side. "They are not of my court. Nor any court, as far as I can tell."

With that, Rhys stood and walked. He didn't both using the door; he just walked through the wall knowing exactly how to get where he pleased. Feyre followed him, grabbing his hand so she, too, would go through the walls. After a few twists and turns, they entered the library. They wound up behind the apparent intruder, who had a single sword attached at her side and held a book Feyre had read last month in her hand.

"And who exactly," Rhys drawled, "might you be?"


	3. Aelin 2

Aelin spun around, left hand gripping the hilt of her blade while she clutched the book in her right. Behind her, two strangers had appeared out of no where.

Both were well dressed. One was a man with fair skin, dark hair, and blue eyes. He reminded her of a certain prince, but while Dorian was sweet, this man was sinful. The girl slightly behind him, a few inches shorter, had hair a few shades darker than Aelin's.

The man spoke again, drawing her attention to him. "You know, it's rude to ignore your host's questions. Especially when that host is _me_."

The man took a step closer, but Aelin wasn't about to retreat even an inch. Still, was it safe to give her name? She stared right in his blue eyes, and smirked.

"You _must_ forgive my silence; who I am depends on who is asking, you see," Aelin replied, using a level of confidence she had learned to fake through the years.

The man let out a deep, low laugh in response. "And," he replied in a tone every bit as cocky as hers, "if the person asking is Lord Rhysand of the Night Court?"

Night Court..? "Then I would tell him I've never heard of the 'Night Court,' and he has likewise never heard of mine, Terrasen," she said sweetly to the supposed Lord Rhysand.

Before he could reply, the girl behind him stepped forward.

"So does your court bestow _names_ on its subjects?"

The cheek… Aelin smiled sweetly at her too. "Oh yes," she purred. " It also _bestows_ names on its rulers. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius."

In Erilia, such a statement would be met with cheering or scorn.

In the so-called Night Court, the declaration was met with a few blinks and very blank looks.

Aelin sighed. "So does the Night Court have any food? Because I've been walking for who knows how long, and I'd love something to eat."

Rhysand and the girl looked at each other. Rhysand then turned to her, fixed those piercing blue eyes on her face again, and purred. "Of course we do. We were actually just having dinner when I suppose you arrived. Do, do come along."

And just like that, he grabbed the girl and they walked through the wall.

Aelin stared for a moment. Then, she reasoned, this was some sort of test. Could she teleport or whatever, perhaps? Last time Aelin checked, she could not walk through walls, though she pushed on it anyway to see if it was enchanted to let people through. No luck.

Well then. _When in doubt…_

She set a door-sized portion of the wall on fire and then quickly put it out.

 _...set the problem on fire._

Behind the wall, Rhysand looked mildly stunned while the girl remained agape. With the slightest strut, Aelin walked through the hole she had blown in the wall.

"It's not like I can walk through walls, unlike some people here," she said by way of explanation. "And I'd really like some food… chocolate cake, maybe?"

Rhysand recovered, as if he'd been frozen and then thawed at her words. "Be that as it may, you can't simply set my home on fire. Follow me… you should be able to do so without ruining the centuries-old framework this time."

 _Oops,_ Aelin thought. Not that she was terribly apologetic.

The lord waved his hand. The room they were in had been similar to the other in the sense that it had no door. After his gesture, however, a small portion of the wall to her left simply disappeared, and he walked through, grabbing the girl again. Aelin follow, and after she walked through the wall became whole again. This continued for several more rooms, giving Aelin time to ask a few questions.

"So what is your name?" she asked the girl.

The lord glanced back as if to interrupt, but the girl replied before him, "Feyre."

 _How unusual_ , Aelin thought to yourself.

"And are you the Lady of the Night Court, Feyre?" Aelin asked. The girl—Feyre—had some of Rhysand's scent on her, but her own scent didn't ring of shadows and stars. Instead, she smelled more like wild flowers.

Rhysand laughed, and Feyre just replied that she was not, without bothering to explain any more. Fair enough.

Eventually, they wound up in an elaborate dining hall. With another wave of his hand, the table became covered with sweets, including a marvelous chocolate cake.

"Sit," he said.

Aelin stood. Perhaps it was because her nature to be contrary, but she felt a pull in her legs. The ache behind her knees grew. Sitting would be nice, she was tired after walking, hadn't she wanted to come and just eat and relax… Except Aelin distinctly knew this was not her own thinking… at least not fully. Someone was trying to bend her to his will, and she would not be bent.

The ache lessened, neither Rhysand or the girl showing any outward signs of their power being thrown off. If it was them, that is. Aelin was not so foolish as to think she had an inkling of who roamed the Night Court.

"Please, sit," Rhysand repeated.

This time Aelin sat, confident it was her own choice, and they followed suit. For a moment, the trio stared at each other. Just as Aelin was about to cut herself a piece of the scrumptious-looking cake, she paused.

Maybe it was a paranoia; maybe it wasn't. But Aelin was fairly certain there was an extra visitor in her head. It wasn't like before, with the lull in her knees trying to make her sit. That was a power play between her and whatever other being aimed to test her. This was much more covert, more delicate. She stood still, nearly forgetting to breathe, as she tried to figure it out. It was like a worm, digging its way into her thoughts and memories.

Her memories. Hers.

The worm, as she pictured it, paused. Whoever was in her brain knew that she was aware, and perhaps this gave pause to whomever because her memories quickly sank back down. It was not like the vlag who sifted through her memories and feasted. This was a curious entry. But he—and Aelin was quite certain she knew who was doing this, Night Court Lord be damned—had no business there. So just as Aelin pictured him as a worm, she pictured herself as a hawk and plucked that festering worm out and ejected him from her brain.

Then she stretched her fangs and growled, a long, low growl, at Rhysand. Not a second later, she sprung across the table at her target.


	4. Feyre 2

The woman spun around, hand on her her sword's hilt. Her face contorted in surprise. It was nearly comical: her blue eye's bulged, mouth hung open slightly, and she held herself so still Feyre wondered if she was breathing. But the expression disappeared seconds later as the woman schooled her features into neutrality. Her face, once the expression was cold as snow, was something Feyre would've liked to try and capture on canvas. Her eyes...

Rhys stood casually, as if the woman was no concern. He stood mere inches in front of her, and Feyre knew his own blue eyes were looking at her the way a cat looks at a mouse. Feyre knew that expression well. Yet despite his smirk—feyre knew that was there too—he subtly pulled Feyre behind him with a small jerk of his hand.

"You know, it's rude to ignore your host's questions. Especially when that host is me," he continued, taking a step towards the woman. She held her ground.

"You must forgive my silence," the woman said. Her voice didn't waver; her tone was confident. The apology sounded about as sincere as most of Lucien's. "Who I am depends who is asking, you see."

Rhys let out a low chuckle. "And if the person asking is Lord Rhysand of the Night Court?"

"Then I would tell him I've never heard of the 'Night Court,' and he has likewise never heard of mine, Terrasen."

Feyre stepped forward. "So does your court bestow _names_ on its subjects?"

The stranger turned a mad grin to Feyre. "Oh yes. It also _bestows_ names on its rulers. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius."

Feyre had never heard of the Night Court, and by the looks of it, neither had Rhys.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius sighed. "So does the Night Court have any food? Because I've been walking for who knows how long, and I'd love something to eat."

She asked the two of them for food as if she… she… as if she wasn't in the private library of the Lord of the Night Court.

Feyre felt a good deal of respect for her. And fear, depending on Rhys's mood.

 _What do you think?_ she thought at him.

 _I've never heard of Terrasen,_ he replied. _But there's something unusual about her. She smells neither mortal nor fae, not entirely. Almost like High Fae, but she's not, I'm certain._

 _Is it safe to let her stay?_

 _Perhaps,_ came the reply. _Then again, perhaps not._

Feyre would've asked more, but Rhys turned back to Aelin and replied in his most benevolent tone that of course they did, after all they'd been having dinner, and wouldn't she please follow them?

Quickly, Rhys grabbed Feyre's hand and pulled her through the wall. He stood a few feet back with her, and then watched.

A second later it was in flame, and then a moment after that it went out. The woman, Aelin, stood behind it with a rather pleased look on her face, and then she stepped through.

All she said was "It's not like I can walk through walls, unlike some people here. And I'd really like some food… chocolate cake, maybe?"

Rhysand seemed to recover a bit faster than Feyre. He was clearly more surprised than angry, but he hid both with his words. "Be that as it may, you can't simply set my home on fire."

The girl just gazed calmly at him, as if it was hardly her fault his home was flammable. "Follow me," he continued with a pause. "You should be able to do so without ruining the centuries-old framework this time."

Rhys then waved his hand, and I felt the magic tug and pull with reality. A split second later, where the wall to their right had been was a reasonable sized opening.

Feyre squinted at Rhys. _If you can do that, why do I always have to be touching you to walk around here?_

Feyre heard a very, very amused chuckle in her head. _Because I want to hold your hand._

Feyre jerked her hand away, but Rhys smoothly captured it and tugged her with him through the opening. Aelin followed them, unaware of their conversation.

Feyre would've sworn they were taking a path different from the one they'd taken to reach the library—shouldn't they have taken a second left?—but with the Night Court, who could tell? The girl didn't stay silent long enough for Feyre to contemplate it.

"So what is your name?" Aelin asked.

She felt Rhys tense beside her. _Don't answer—names have pow—_

"Feyre," she replied. It was only fair, she supposed, given that Aelin had said her own name. It had nothing to do with spiteing Rhys like a child.

"And are you the Lady of the Night Court, Feyre?" Aelin continued.

Feyre tensed ever so slightly. She couldn't possibly know what a loaded question that was.

Rhys just laughed.

"I am not," Feyre said.

After a few more turns (Feyre gave up hope of figuring out how they got there) the three of them wound up back in the dining hall. The remnants of their old meal had disappeared, and Rhys filled the empty table with sweets with another hand wave.

Since she had joined the ranks of the High Fae, Feyre had grown… attuned to when Tamlin or Rhys used their magic. Tamlin's magic felt like nature stirring, a warm breeze on her arm, rain in her hair. But while Tamlin's was wind caressing her, Rhys's felt almost like a touch. When he conjured the snacks, it was like someone placing their hand on her back. Normally, it would fade after a second.

But Rhys was not done with his magic.

All he said was a very smooth "Sit" to their guest, but to Feyre, it felt like a push. Not so powerful she couldn't resist, but Feyre was High Fae in her own right and it wasn't targeted at her specifically. Though Rhys wasn't using his full power—hardly a fraction, if she had experienced a sliver in those months before—the so-called ruler of Terrasen shouldn't be able to resist.

But she did, and Rhys's magic didn't like that.

 _Be polite,_ Feyre chastised. There was no sense burning bridges before they reached the water.

 _She does not belong here_ was the only reply.

Still, he showed no sign outward sign of annoyance. Unless Aelin was similarly attuned, she shouldn't notice.

"Please, sit," Rhys said without any magic imbued in the words.

Aelin sat. Feyre and Rhys followed suit.

For the record, Feyre was ready to ask questions. Simple question and answer, if she seemed truthful, maybe they could work something out. Obviously the whole "being in Rhys's private library" issue would need to be sorted out, but first they should at least talk to her. The girl hadn't proved _completely_ insufferable.

But Rhys's power grew. Now it was a hand twisting her hair and tickling her ear. There was more power behind his next strike, but it was more refined and delicate.

Suddenly it grew uncomfortably warm in the room, and Rhys, Lord of the Night Court, jerked back as if struck.

Before Feyre's very eyes, the woman's canine's grew into long demonic points, and she made a sound that nearly shook Feyre to the core. It was a bestial sound, and it did not belong in Pyrithian. A split second later, Aelin jumped over the table and lunged.


	5. Feyre 3

Feyre reacted with pure instinct. Not necessarily the best survival instinct, but that didn't stop her from jumping between Rhys and Aelin and shoving the bitch against the wall.

Rhys, wearing an unconvincing guise of amusement, leaned in close to her ear. "And here I was thinking you wanted to throw _me_ into walls."

Before she could retort, Aelin had gotten back on her feet and lunged like an animal. Feyre lunged in return after Aelin's nails scratched her cheek, made faster by her new powers which she'd barely tested. Both wound up wrestling on the table. Though to an outsider it might have seen wild, amidst the adrenaline it was clear to Feyre she was outmatched. The bow she had used out of necessity, but there was hardly any need for any wrestling… outside of certain rooms.

Needless to say, Feyre was straddled by Aelin minutes later. But it was like the urge to fight had left Aelin, who just sat there, staring, the feral grin on her easing into something slightly less fierce.

"Care to let me up?" Feyre growled.

Aelin seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On if your _friend_ ," Aelin hissed a little at the word, "would keep his grubby paws out of my head."

Feyre could see Rhys's smile out of the corner of her at the word friend, which was followed by a light chuckle.

"I don't know, Feyre," he purred. "I'm rather enjoying—"

She interjected with an eye roll. Rhysand will most certainly mind his manners."

This seemed to appease Aelin, who promptly eased off of her. When the ruler of Terrasan extended her hand, Feyre hesitated a moment before taking it.

Nonetheless, Feyre still eased back towards Rhys. And despite his current easygoing appearance, Feyre sensed something uncoil in him as she did so.

"Now that that's settled," Aelin said cheerily after adjusting her clothing, "I'm hoping you could help me get back to my kingdom."

The trio returned to the library as Aelin explained what had happened. The way she explained it, she had come from another world—another dimension—and seemed to blame it on some kind of magical language. Rhys helped both of them into the library, and they glanced around. It looked nearly precisely as it had when Feyre had been there this morning.

"It's around here somewhere…" Aelin murmured. "It's always around somewhere."

Feyre wasn't so sure. Magic books were entirely believable. A magic book appearing without Rhys knowing? Less so. But where Aelin was concerned, it almost seemed silly to stick steadfast to the logical, so Feyre helped look.

While Aelin seemed to scan the book spines in seconds, it took Feyre minutes to work through one. It didn't help that no matter what shelf Feyre looked through, Rhys looked at the one above.

"Do you have to stand so close?" she grumbled.

"No."

"Then maybe—"

Rhys interrupted, looking far too happy. "No more than you had to jump in and defend my honor."

Feyre opened her mouth to reply before suddenly squatting down to a lower shelf. It was almost as if some magic drew her right hand to it, and she pulled it out.

The Walking Dead was inscribed upon the top. Unable to resist, Feyre opened it. It was as though some power to entrancing to resist compelled her.

Inside… Inside was another world. There was art in the world and pictures she painted, and there were words in books that she struggled through daily. But inside the book it was as though the two has mixed with such precision that art itself had become a language, a simple language that held within it secrets of every possible sort Feyre could imagine.

These were the wyrd marks Aelin had described, and Feyre loved them.


End file.
